“Want me to e-mail you some tips?” Rob offered.
“Um, okay. I should get off. I’m sure you’re busy.”
“Always. Chez, I’m sorry if I freaked you out the other night.”
“I wasn’t freaked out.” Rob considered that a lie. He knew freaking out when he saw it. “Just a bit taken aback. But, I can’t…nothing else.”
“You’re already seeing someone?”
“No. God, no.” Rob supposed he wouldn’t risk having a regular boyfriend that his family might find out about. So did he pick guys up casually? In bars? Use Grindr? The thought made Rob’s skin crawl. Chez deserved better than quickies. “But I still can’t. I’m sorry.”
“Okay.” He hated to hear the no, but he had to respect it. And as generally accepting as Rob’s parents had been, even they might freak out if he started courting a Bianchi. The families had still barely recovered from when his father’s cousin Sophie had run off with a Bianchi boy back in 1987. “We should just stick to the phone or e-mail for any, ah, business discussions from now on, eh?”
“Good idea.” Chez rang off.
Rob looked out his office window at waves crashing onto golden sand. Chez was right to turn him down. And it didn’t matter. Plenty more fish in the sea.
* * * *
Rob almost missed the turning into the country hotel. But he spotted it just in time to haul on the big steering wheel and drive through the open gate. The gears ground as he switched down. This was one of the older vans, as the vintage look was popular for weddings. When he drove into the big grassy area at the back of the hotel where he was to park, he found the Bianchi van already there. Chez leaned out of the serving hatch, watching him.
“Hi!” Rob called, jumping out. “The van looks great!”
Chez had done well, dressing his van up with some wedding-appropriate bunting, and even fixed a couple of white ribbons from the front of the bonnet to the top of the windscreen. Rob would have to remember that one. Chez looked great, too, white T-shirt and white apron. “You should have your logo on that apron,” Rob said. Chez frowned at the unsolicited advice. “Sorry. Can’t help myself.”
“So, you’re doing the job yourself, then?” Chez said. “Not Hannah?”
“Not enough cover on the other vans.” He shrugged. “Always good to keep my hand in. I’d better go report to that wedding planner. Anywhere around here I can get a cuppa?”
“Well, yes. It’s a hotel.”
“Oh yeah.” Rob grinned at Chez’s dry tone. “You want one? I’ll bring you one out.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
He came back in a few minutes carrying two big mugs of tea and sugar packets in his pocket. Chez was sitting in the back of his van with the door open. Rob handed him a mug, and Chez looked at him for a long moment before budging up to make room for him to sit. There wasn’t enough room for two, really. Their arms pressed together, and Rob felt Chez stiffen.
“Reception is in full swing in there,” Rob said.
“A big crowd?”
“Looks like about four hundred people.”
“Wow. Who invites four hundred people to a wedding?”
“Maybe they have big families.”
“Like ours.” Chez chuckled.
“Yeah,” Rob said. “If we got married to each other, then four hundred wouldn’t even cover all the first cousins.” Wait, why the hell did he say that? Rob smiled, trying to make it appear a joke. But Chez frowned.
“If we got married to each other, we’d have four hundred people showing up to spit on us, not celebrate.”
“Speak for your own family,” Rob said. “Mine are okay, actually.” Chez didn’t look convinced. And perhaps Rob could only say that about his parents and his sisters, and maybe his somewhat eccentric Aunt Livia, who was a sculptor. “Well, some of them,” he conceded.
They drank their tea in silence for a while, Rob enjoying basking in the sunshine as it warmed the lush grass sprinkled with daisies and buttercups.
“Better summer this year,” Chez said. “The last two…hell’s bells.” He grimaced.
Rob hated to imagine the damage the washout summers of the last two years had done to the Bianchis’ already faltering business. Come to think of it, it was right at the end of summer the year before that Teo had done his little disappearing act.
“Right,” Rob said, his mug empty. “I’d better get set up.”
“Me, too. Rob…thanks again for sending this booking my way.”
“No problem.”
“I’ll buy you a drink later to say thanks.”
He nodded at the hotel. Hotel bar prices. Rob would make sure he only let Chez buy him one.
* * * *
“Ready for that drink?”
Rob looked out of his serving hatch to see Chez standing there, apron off, a denim jacket covering his T-shirt.
“I am.” Rob climbed out of the van, grabbing his jacket on the way, a light linen blazer. They might be a bit casual for the hotel’s usual dress code, but there would still be a lot of wedding guests around and more arriving for the evening party. Nobody would notice the two of them in the crowd.
They’d moved their vans off the field to the hotel’s car park, so they were close to a door and were soon in the bar. It was filled with dark red leather Chesterfields and wedding guests—mostly men—transitioning from afternoon reception to rowdier evening party. Rob and Chez took a corner seat away from most of the men and with a good view of the TV, which had Sky Sports on it. A late-kick-off match played.
Their first pint went down fast. “Thirsty work,” Rob said.
“Been lucky with the weather.”
“Who, us or the happy couple?”
Chez smiled. “Both.” He raised his glass. “To the happy couple. What were their names again?”
“I forget,” Rob said, chuckling, clinking his glass against Chez’s. He nodded at the guys, some in morning suits, talking loudly. “Why don’t you go ask?”
“Oh yes, they look like just my sort of crowd.”
“I dunno, I’ve had some good times with drunk straight guys.”
“Rob! Keep your voice down.”
“Oh, nobody cares. And nobody here knows us.”
Chez frowned, looking thoughtful. “No. I suppose not.”
He went quiet, still looking contemplative. Rob felt suddenly thoughtful himself. No, nobody knew them here. They were anonymous, lost in a crowd. That gave him ideas. Oh so many ideas.
“You want another one?” Rob said as Chez put his empty glass down.
“I shouldn’t. I have to drive back. So do you.”
“I’m thinking of staying.”
He wasn’t sure where that came from. His mind just spat it out. Chez looked baffled.
“What, and go to the wedding disco?”
“No. Just…thinking I’d enjoy a night in a luxury hotel room.”
“They’re probably all booked up with a wedding party this size.”
Probably. But now he’d said it, Rob couldn’t stop himself going on with the rest of the idea.
“If they’re not. If I stay…I’d like you to stay with me.”
It was a good thing Chez had finished his beer, or Rob might be wearing it.
“What?”
“You heard me. I’d like to spend the night with you. Here, where nobody knows us. Where it’s safe.”
“Rob, I…” His voice dropped, and Rob had to lean close to hear him. “I want to, but I can’t afford a place like this.”
“Forget about that. My treat.”
“I can’t let you—”
“I invited you, so I pay. No argument.”
“They probably don’t have any rooms free anyway,” Chez said.
Did he hope they didn’t, because then he’d have an excuse not to do what he wanted to do? Without having to admit there was any other reason? Like fear?
“I’ll go and check.” Rob was up and heading out of the bar before Chez could protest. Five minute
s later he came back carrying a key card. Chez wasn’t where Rob had left him. Had he bolted? Was he even now running across the car park and climbing into his van to make a quick getaway? No. Rob sighed with relief as Chez reappeared from the gent’s toilets, his jacket back on.
“Thought you’d run out on me,” Rob said, retrieving his own jacket. He held up the key card for one of the few rooms the hotel had left. “We’re in luck. They’ve had a couple of cancellations. Bound to happen with a party this size. You, ah, up for this, then?”
Chez didn’t answer—not in words. Rather he put his hand in his pocket and half pulled out what he must have just bought from the vending machine in the toilets. Condoms.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Rob said with a grin. “Let’s go.”
“You do realise it’s only six o’clock?” Chez pointed out. “And we haven’t eaten yet.”
“That’s what room service is for.”
* * * *
Rob tapped on the bathroom door. “You can come out now.”
Chez looked out cautiously. “She’s gone?”
“She’s gone. We’re alone. Now come out of there, you daft thing.”
Chez had insisted on hiding in the bathroom when the room service waitress delivered their food, and later when she returned to collect the empty plates. Maybe he feared he’d run into his Nana, moonlighting as a hotel waitress. Rob was surprised he hadn’t called out to Rob in a falsetto to put the waitress off the scent.
Chez emerged with a sheepish expression on his face. “Sorry.”
“Never mind. Look, the door is locked. The chain is on. It’s just us now.”
He stepped forward, and Chez didn’t retreat. He let Rob close the distance between them and take Chez in his arms, lean in for a kiss. Oh, he tasted good. He hadn’t wasted his time in the bathroom—he’d made use of the mouthwash at least. Chez made a sound in his throat, a whimper almost. A needy sound.
“Shh,” Rob said gently, pulling away from the kiss. He stroked Chez’s hair, looked into the man’s wide worried eyes. “It’s okay. Don’t be nervous.” He wasn’t sure how experienced Chez was. On the one hand, he was gorgeous and should be able to have as much sex as he wanted. On the other, he was closeted and terrified of being outed. How many opportunities had he denied himself to keep his secret? “I’ll go slow,” Rob went on. “We have all night.” Though he also thought that along with sex, Chez could use a good night’s sleep.
“Okay,” Chez said. “Let’s not take too long, though.” When Rob looked at him quizzically, he smiled. “It’s Saturday. Match of the Day is on later.”
* * * *
Chez’s head rested heavily on Rob’s chest. Rob twined his fingers in Chez’s hair, stroking it lazily. It was damp with sweat. The big hotel room TV played Match of the Day, but Rob wasn’t sure Chez was watching it. He thought Chez might have gone to sleep.
But he was wrong. Chez moved suddenly, sitting up.
“Ow,” he said. “That’s giving me a crick in the neck.”
Chez plumped up the pillows and rested beside Rob, smiled at him, and took the hand Rob had been stroking his hair with. Then he settled against the pillows, pressed up against Rob. He looked so relaxed, so…content. All the tension he’d been carrying had vanished, leaving him looking younger, carefree.
“Chez,” Rob said, taking advantage of this relaxation and a break in the football for some punditry. “What did happen with Teo?”
He felt Chez tense up a little but then sigh and relax again. “He and my dad couldn’t agree on changes Teo wanted to make. Things got pretty tight last autumn after those two bad summers. Teo had ideas to help the business recover. But he couldn’t get Dad to agree to them.”
“But he was in charge, wasn’t he? Your dad had retired by then.”
“Let’s just say he’s still very much a not-so-silent partner.”
Rob shook his head. “The person in charge has to be allowed to be in charge.”
“That’s what Teo thought. Eventually they had a big row, and he packed it in. He went and bought a parlour down south. He’s making a go of it. Dad should have listened to him.”
“So you ended up lumbered with the job.”
“Lumbered is right. I didn’t want it. But Dad talked about taking over again, and his doctor warned if he went back to work, it might kill him. I really had no choice.”
Rob squeezed his hand. Clearly it didn’t suit him. He hated it, but he was too scared to push for any of the changes Teo had tried to make, even though he knew they were right for the business. Chez turned on his side, moved closer to Rob, snuggling in against him, an arm across his chest. Rob put an arm around him, holding him tight.
“Rob…” Chez stopped, then gulped a couple of times, his voice quiet when he spoke. “I’m no good at it. I don’t have any business qualifications, just catering ones. But even if I had those, I’d still…fail. I’m just not cut out for it.”
How scared he sounded. How desperate.
“And if…when I fail, when we lose the business, that’s sixty years of history down the drain.”
Rob held him tighter. After a moment he asked quietly, “If you could do whatever you liked, what would it be?”
“Run the parlour,” Chez said, with no hesitation. “That’s what I did before Teo left. I was good at that. And helping Nana with her ices. She still calls me her taste tester. I’m good at sourcing the best-quality ingredients for her.”
“What about the vans?”
“I don’t much like working the vans.” His shoulders tensed under Rob’s arm. “I don’t like kids much. I mean, I like the kids in my family, they’re great. But other kids, en masse, they make me nervous.”
Rob frowned. He stroked Chez’s warm bare shoulder. Eventually he spoke quietly.
“You used to get a lot of stick at school, didn’t you?”
Now Chez really tensed. He barely seemed to breathe, and Rob hated that he’d triggered those memories. He saw old pain in Chez’s dark eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Others had worse.” Chez’s voice went rough, hoarse, trying to sound like it didn’t still hurt. Rob touched his face, stroked it. Light bristle growth rasped under his thumb.
“I should have stuck up for you,” he said.
“Why? We weren’t friends.”
“No, but they called you…gay…” Only they hadn’t used that word. Other words. More hurtful words. “And I already knew I was gay. I was too scared they’d find out, so I never stood up for you. I tried to pretend it was because our families were rivals. But it’s because I was afraid.”
And then Chez was hugging him, comforting him, and Rob clung to him tight, remembering that fear. He hadn’t stuck up for Chez then, but maybe he could now. Rob could help him. And if he did, it would mean Chez could go back to doing what he liked doing. He could be happy. Rob didn’t know quite when it had happened, but it had become very important to him that Chez be happy.
Chez started kissing him as the closing theme music of Match of the Day came on. Rob fumbled for the TV remote and pointed it blindly at the set. He felt around for the standby button and must have got it, because the telly went silent. He tossed the remote away. In the sudden quiet, Rob could hear Chez’s fast breathing, his soft moans. Rob fought with the sheets and blankets that tangled between them, pressed close, skin to skin, moving on top of Chez. Chez stared up at him, eyes huge, lips parted, utterly beautiful.
“I want to be inside you.”
Rob chose his words carefully. Chez was so skittish, and Rob rarely heard a profanity from Chez, that he feared coarser words would scare the man off. Words Rob wanted to say desperately. I want to fuck you. Take you. Make you mine.
Chez pulled Rob down, not for a kiss; he buried Rob’s face against his neck and spoke in Rob’s ear. “Yes.”
Mine.
* * * *
Rob parked in the viewpoint car park and stepped out of the car. The wind snatched at his clothes, and he grabbed his jack
et to keep it from flapping around. As he’d expected, there was a Bianchi’s ice cream van parked there. And as he hoped, Chez was inside it. His serving hatch was closed and he sat inside with his head down, not looking up when Rob approached. Rob tapped on the glass with his keys and Chez looked up, startled. He stood up, putting down a book, and slid open the serving hatch.
“Hi, Mister,” Rob said, grinning. “Can I get a 99 with monkey’s blood?”
Chez sighed. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to have a chat with you. And you haven’t been returning my calls.” Over a week had passed since that night at the hotel, and Rob had left several messages but got no response.
“I told you I need to think about, you know, us.”
“I know. That’s okay.” Rob wasn’t going to push him on “us,” because if he pushed too hard, Chez would definitely back off. “Take however long you need. This is about something else. Are you going to make me stand out here in the cold, or can I come in?”
Chez looked around guiltily. He needn’t worry. There were only a half-dozen cars parked. This viewpoint on the highest point of the cliffs gave a magnificent view of the bay, and on a sunny summer weekend day it was crammed with people. On a cloudy and breezy Wednesday afternoon, not so much. Chez opened the door, and Rob climbed into the back of the van. With the serving window closed again, it was pretty cosy.
“You don’t seem likely to make much money today,” Rob said.
“You know this is a use-it-or-lose-it pitch.”
Rob knew it. If Bianchi’s didn’t use the pitch often enough, the council would take it off them and let another firm lease it. Rob’s firm. Problem was, the trade here was so up and down it meant plenty of wasted days. Chez leaned against the freezer, while Rob took a good look around the interior of the van. In decent nick, but the machines were a bit old. Clean, though. No hygiene inspector could find fault.
“You actually want an ice?” Chez asked.
“Why not? I just had lunch and no dessert. Give us a 99.”
“I thought you liked my Nana’s sophisticated flavours.” Chez took a cone from the top of the stack.
“Sometimes a man has to feed his inner ten-year-old.” Rob watched Chez place the cone under the nozzle of the soft-serve machine and press the dispense button. Just a small movement of his hand produced a beautiful tight swirl. A chocolate Flake from a box by the machine and a topping of “monkey’s blood” strawberry sauce completed the classic 99. Chez handed it over.
99 Problems Page 2
